


hollywood’s calling for the movie rights

by earnmysong



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“You think this is the first time this has happened? Not even close. That’s why I have the alarm.”</i> // Felicity has ways of dealing with the rumor mill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hollywood’s calling for the movie rights

**Author's Note:**

> _Arrow_ is property of its rightful owners. This is the product of a headcanon discussion with phrenitis as well as my need to once again avoid thinking about forthcoming real life events. Title courtesy of Blues Traveler’s ‘Run Around’. Now with [art](http://p0cketw0tch.tumblr.com/post/81817333369/felicity-is-tired-sick-and-has-to-time-for-your) courtesy of the lovely and talented [p0cketw0tch](http://p0cketw0tch.tumblr.com).

\---- 

Felicity shuffles into the office in jeans, boots, and an MIT hoodie she’s had since freshmen orientation. This is the most casually dressed she’s been since she graduated and it’s definitely not by choice. She’s just glad she didn’t drown in the shower this morning – she’s not sure anyone has ever done that but, with her luck, there'd been an excellent chance of her being the first. The fact that she’s alive is enough of a win at this point that her lackluster appearance barely even registers.

What does get her attention? Oliver blocking her usual path to her desk, arms crossed over his chest and his sternest glower firmly in place.

“Don’t say it,” she warns before he can start to speak. 

It’s obvious that her voice is pretty much a non-entity, so she raises it to what would normally qualify as a scream, but today is apparently no more than a weak whisper. “There’s no way I was staying home. I mean, sure, I’ve got nineteen episodes of _Fringe_ on my DVR even though it’s been off the air for a year and watching those on my couch would’ve meant not having to worry about collapsing while having a conversation with you. Unfortunately, you don’t know where anything is and you would’ve called me in two hours anyway, so here I am,” she finishes, punctuating with a ‘ta-da’ wave of her arms.

“Felicity, you’ve created a ridiculously detailed, color-coded post-it system for situations such as this.” He cups a hand over her shoulder, ensures she makes it safely into her chair. “It worked when you were in Central City; it would’ve worked today.”

“Please,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “You called at least five times a day when I was visiting Barry.” Her croak deepens in an attempt to mimic his inflection and tone. “Felicity, I somehow disabled my firewall. Felicity, how did you hack into the Department of Justice without getting arrested last month? Felicity, Thea tells me I have a Facebook account. Do you know anything about that?”

“This is different,” he tells her, walking backward so he’s facing her until he’s halfway to their Keurig. “Chai?” He already has the pod out of its box and in the machine by the time she nods.

She stands to get her mug when her tea’s done; he points at her seat, places it in front of her. “How’d last night go?” She blows out a breath across the top of her drink, takes a sip, watches him make his own latte. “You know, after my whole,” she pretends to dry heave on the floor next to her, “thing.”

He laughs, sits down across from her. “Diggle got a name.”

She holds out a hand, asking for the information without actually speaking. He takes a business card out of his pocket, is reaching forward toward her outstretched fingers when her computer emits a tiny snippet of a song he doesn’t know. _If life was a movie, it wouldn’t end like this…_

“Hold on. I have to…” she trails off, hurriedly punching strings of letters into her keyboard.

“Something I need to suit up for?” His question’s met with silence as she continues typing, clicking the mouse every so often. He lets her go for a solid five minutes before he realizes her concentration is nowhere close to breaking. “Felicity.” He doesn’t say her name loudly, but it’s emphatic enough to make her glance up at him. “What’s up?”

She pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, turns the screen so it’s facing him instead of answering. 

E! Online is pulled up in one window, an article that proclaims ‘Starling City’s Resident Hottie a Dad-To-Be?’ with an accompanying picture of him keeping Felicity’s hair over one shoulder as she’s doubled over a trashcan at the corner of 2nd and Broadway. He gapes for a while, finally growls, “We can sue them for libel and defamation. I’m calling legal.”

She chuckles huskily. “You think this is the first time this has happened? Not even close. That’s why I have the alarm.” 

It’s then that he notices the other window she has open – a black background covered in endless white lines of code. She keys one last number into whatever she’s creating and, five seconds later, E!’s triumphant headline morphs into _ERROR 506 (The page you are trying to reach doesn’t exist)_. A smile lights up her face as she fistpumps the air above her head. “How often do you do this?”

“Not very.” He tilts his head, a _come on_ in his eyes. “A few times a month. The concrete count depends on what the paparazzi catches us in the middle of. The first time I googled myself - after Russia – wasn’t pretty, to say the least, so. Solution!” She gestures toward the newly blank webpage.

“There’s no one quite like Felicity Smoak.” He gets to his feet, lips brushing the top of her head affectionately as he heads in the direction of his own desk. “I have a conference call in ten, but yell if you need anything.”

She salutes. “Remember to hit 998 before you pick up because it’s international.”

(She falls asleep at her desk waiting for him to finish, startles awake when her alert pings again. This time around, instead of just taking down the Star Tracks version of the same picture from earlier, she crashes People’s entire site.)


End file.
